


Logical Premise

by Suspicious_Popsicle



Series: Trouble in a Black Hoodie [2]
Category: Tales of Vesperia
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Eventual Fluri, Gen, occupation bingo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-30
Updated: 2013-12-30
Packaged: 2018-01-06 18:08:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,154
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1109954
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Suspicious_Popsicle/pseuds/Suspicious_Popsicle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Disclaimer: The characters in this story are from Tales of Vesperia and do not belong to me.</p>
    </blockquote>





	Logical Premise

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: The characters in this story are from Tales of Vesperia and do not belong to me.

Flynn should have known that showing up early to class wouldn’t do him any good at all in regards to getting a chance to talk to Lowell. It shouldn’t have been all that difficult to make it to a nine o’clock class on time, but Lowell almost seemed to take some strange pride in being constantly late, if he showed up at all. Silly to think he might change that habit because of one chance encounter.

They were more than five minutes into class—and the short quiz—when he finally sauntered in wearing a powder blue hoodie.

“Mister Lowell.” The instructor tended to drone on the best of days, but even his flat tone took on an edge when dealing with constant tardiness. “We’ve all been awaiting your arrival with baited breath. If you would, come and take a copy of the quiz. You have until the last of the students who arrived on time are finished.”

“Yes, sir.”

Smirking, he took the paper and went to his usual seat by the door, tossing his backpack underneath and hunching over the desk. Not once did he look in Flynn’s direction, and any thoughts of taking his time in order to try and buy Lowell another minute or two faded as the seconds ticked away without any acknowledgement. He tried to concentrate on the problems before him, but now he was aware of his classmate in a way he hadn’t been before. He kept seeing movements out of the corner of his eye, the stretch of a long leg, a flick of a pale hand. After having seen him beat the fight out of two large drunks, Flynn couldn’t quite reconcile the slumped figure in pastel with the grinning brawler from last night. He watched Lowell yawn, realized that he was staring, and hurriedly turned his gaze back to his quiz. There’d been a bruise at the corner of his mouth and probably more hidden beneath his clothes. He’d said that sort of thing wasn’t uncommon.

Flynn finished up and brought his paper up front to lay it on the corner of the desk. Turning around, he was surprised to find that Lowell was staring straight at him. Pushing his long hair back over his shoulder one more time, he grinned and waggled his fingers in greeting.

“Tick tock, Mister Lowell.”

Once the last of the quizzes had been turned in, the rest of the period was spent the same as usual. Demonstrations of the formula they were to be learning followed a monotonous lecture that had heads drooping all around the classroom. Flynn made the mistake of catching Lowell’s eye a few times and had to bite back a smile at the faces he pulled. He had to wonder: if he was so bored, why not just go to sleep, like he usually did?

Eventually, the hour was up and Flynn tucked his binder and textbook into his messenger bag with no small amount of relief. Even he had been nodding a little there at the end. By the time he looked up, Lowell was already gone, and his smile faded a bit. He’d hoped, for reasons he wasn’t entirely sure of, that they would have a chance to talk after class.

As it turned out, he wasn’t the only one who had been waiting for the opportunity. Lowell was loitering outside in the hall, and he fell into step when Flynn walked out.

“Thanks again for the heads up.”

“You’re welcome.” He studied Lowell from the corner of his eye. The light blue hoodie was much tighter than his other one had been, and the color didn’t suit him. Lowell caught him looking.

“Borrowed it from my roommate till I have a chance to do laundry. Hey, are you on your way to a class?”

“No. My next one isn’t for another hour.”

“Great!” He grinned easily. Flynn liked that about him. “Wanna go grab a coffee? I need something to wake me up.”

“Sure.” They fell into step and for a few long seconds, Flynn reached for something to say. “So, um, you’re all right?” What a stupid question. As if he’d have come to class if he wasn’t.

“Huh? Oh, you mean because of the fight?” Carefully, he brushed his fingers over the splotchy bruise at the corner of his mouth. “Yeah, I’m fine. Looks worse than it is.”

“Won’t that be a problem with your job?”

He held the door as Lowell stepped through, both of them wincing at the sudden, sharp brightness of the sunlight. The campus coffee shop was downstairs in the next building over, and they walked together past abstract sculptures compliments of the art department and small flowerbeds.

“Not as big a problem as you’d think. It’s amazing what a little makeup and the right lighting can hide. It might affect my tips a bit, but most customers aren’t really interested in my face.”

“Where do you work?”

They were nearing the building and Lowell darted forward to smack the button that opened the door automatically. Flynn frowned at him as they entered.

“Those are there for students with special needs, hence the wheelchair icon printed on them.”

He snorted. “Guess you won’t be happy to hear I’ve walked down the wheelchair ramps, then.”

The scent of coffee beckoned sweetly from the open stairwell, pushing away arguments about lazy students wearing down the mechanisms in the doors. It was just as well because Lowell hit the stairs, taking them two at a time and not looking back. Flynn caught up with him at the end of the line in the little café. He had to hide a smile upon seeing so much more interest and concentration in his expression than he’d been bothered to muster for class. Eventually, Lowell decided on something that was more cream and chocolate than coffee, which was a little surprising. Flynn hadn’t pegged him as the sweet tooth type. Then again, he wouldn’t have thought that someone always so laid back in class would get his kicks from back alley brawling, either. He wondered if anyone else suspected what kind of person Lowell was, and tried to remember if he’d ever seen him come in with bruises before.

That particular train of thought was derailed as Lowell pulled out his wallet and paid for his drink with a handful of two-dollar bills. A couple more of them went into the tip jar and, from the look the girl at the register was wearing, Flynn could tell that she was suddenly wondering the same thing he was. Lowell had said he earned tips at work, but there was only one job Flynn could think of where it was common to be tipped in two-dollar bills.

As he waited for his own coffee, Flynn tried not to stare as Lowell went to find them a place to sit among the scattered couches and tables. He was unarguably good looking: tall and fit with long legs and a definite presence. Even with that ugly bruise, his smiles were still contagious.

The girl at the register had to clear her throat to get his attention, and he fumbled for his wallet as he turned back around.

“He paid for yours already.”

“He did?” Why?

“Yeah.” She leaned across the counter to ask quietly: “Is he a stripper?”

Oh, God, she’d actually gone and voiced the thought. He could feel his cheeks heating up. How was he supposed to answer that?

“I…don’t even know his name.”

She stared at him for a moment before rolling her eyes and sighing heavily in disgust. “Men are such pigs.”

\----------------

It was five minutes till nine on Friday morning, and Flynn was staring at the notice taped to the door of his psych statistics class. The instructor was taking a sick day and class had been cancelled. He read the note twice over then stepped aside, lingering uncertainly next to the door. He’d been looking forward to seeing Lowell again. They’d spent an hour talking on Wednesday, and if he hadn’t had another class to get to, Flynn could have happily spent the rest of the day with him. It was too bad they hadn’t been able to meet up after their Thursday class with Don Whitehorse, particularly since Flynn still didn’t know Lowell’s first name.

That was really going to get to be a problem. How was he supposed to ask something like that after they’d spent so long talking?

He checked his watch. Eight fifty-eight. A thin stream of other students filed through the hall. Only a few so far had paused to check the note before turning back the way they’d come. There was no sign of Lowell, and Flynn shifted from foot to foot. Should he wait around? Would that be weird? It wasn’t as if they were friends, exactly. He was curious though, almost despite himself. Lowell was almost precisely what his friends back home would consider the wrong sort, but he wasn’t a bad person. He had been good company so far, and the two of them had sort of…clicked. Or, at least, Flynn hoped they had clicked. He hoped Lowell was looking forward to hanging out again. He was sharper than his attitude in statistics suggested, and he was surprisingly eloquent once he got going on a subject. He was…interesting, engaging. Even little mentions during their conversation of Flynn’s life back home hadn’t triggered that sense of isolation he’d been feeling lately, and he attributed that to the smile that had never quite vanished from Lowell’s face the whole time they sat together.

After a few more minutes, he decided to leave. There was no real guarantee that Lowell would even show up, after all. As disappointed as he was, there was always Monday.

\-----------------

Lowell was late to class again on Monday. He walked in looking tired and a little rough around the edges. His black hoodie was back, though he gave the impression of being wrapped in a blanket rather than dressed for the weather.

“Mister Lowell, need I remind you that the syllabus does, in fact, allow for me to dock points off your final grade for chronic tardiness?”

“You’ll just have to deal with me again,” he said easily.

“Not if I retire first.” Several of the students snickered. “Take your seat, please, Mister Lowell. I would like to continue today’s lesson.”

They were given back their quizzes from Wednesday at the end of the period. Flynn looked his over briefly, smiling at the little check marks over each answer and the steps he’d taken to get there. Full points. He’d been a little worried, but he was doing well in the class so far. Quickly, he put his materials away. Lowell was already out the door, and he hurried to catch up.

“How’d you do?”

“Eh, not great.”

Flynn eyed the folded sheet of paper he held. That was his chance to find out Lowell’s name without him being any the wiser.

“Let me see. Maybe I can help.” He practically snatched the quiz out of Lowell’s hand. Triumph made it difficult to keep from smiling until he unfolded the paper and glanced at the top corner. “’Mister Lowell?’”

“It’s what he always calls me.”

His grin was entirely unrepentant despite the point deduction he’d taken for the little joke. Resisting the urge to sigh, Flynn looked over the actual answers on the page. The problem was immediately apparent.

“You aren’t showing all of your work.”

“No reason to. It’s a waste of time. All my answers are right, see?”

“But he takes off points for that.”

“So I’ll do it on the final if I have to. Till then it’s bullshit.”

“You can’t just put down only the answer you feel like giving and expect to—”

“What’s your number?”

“What?”

“Your number.” He pulled out his phone and held it up. “You offered to help me out, right? This way, you can give me a heads up next time class is cancelled.”

“How early do you think I get here?” he muttered, but he rattled off the number anyway, watching Lowell enter it in. A moment later, his own phone rang, and he fished it out of his pocket.

“That’s me.”

Flynn looked down at the number on the display. Wireless Caller. He went to save it in his contacts and hesitated. Time to come clean. He would never be able to explain his ignorance after this.

“It’s Y-U-R-I.”

“Huh?”

“My name. You wouldn’t believe how many people try to spell it Y-U-R-R-I-E or something. Sounds like a kid’s toy.” He cocked his head to the side, and Flynn couldn’t tell if his grin was genuine or teasing. “You probably already knew how to spell it, huh?”

He didn’t answer. Smiling, Flynn added the number to his contacts. He finally had a name.

Yuri.


End file.
